68
THE NEW YORKER, NOVEMBER 11, 2013
windows, watching darkness envelop
the sky.
"How much do you think it'll cost?"
Benji asked.
"Not sure yet, but maybe a few thou-
sand nairas to begin."
"That's not a lot," he said.
"No," she said. "It's possible we can
even manage those beginning bills on our
own," she added thoughtfully.
She looked seriously at Benji now,
as if she'd suddenly had a revelation.
She told him that she was not notifying
him of her husband's illness in order to
beg him for money. She was not imply-
ing that he needed to help with the
medical bills, and she was sorry if it had
come out that way. What she was say-
ing, rather, was that perhaps this was a
sign.
"A sign of what?" he asked.
"You know," she said. "A sign that I
need to stop fooling around and stay
home with my husband. Maybe it's a
sign that enough is enough."
"Maybe," he said. "And that's your
decision to make."
They didn't speak for some time.
"But I really don't mind helping with
the bills," he said.
"No," she said. "Really, I couldn't ask
that of you."
He was silent.
She got up, straightened out her
skirt, grabbed her handbag, and made to
leave. "I probably won't be back for a
while---I'll be running him around to
his medical appointments,
attending to him in general.
I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be sorry," he said,
standing up, too. He reached
into the back pocket of his
trousers for his wallet. He
took out a wad of thousand-
naira notes and stretched out
his hand to her.
She was beside herself
with shock. So much of it, right in
front of her face. How could she turn it
down now?
She accepted.
He would have Godwin bring her
some more later, in an envelope, he told
her. Just enough to cover what she esti-
mated the bills would be. But she should
try to put this whole thing out of her
mind. She should not let it interfere with
their relationship. As soon as her hus-
band had healed, he wanted them to
carry on as before.
She nodded. "Of course," she said.
She could not wait for things to return to
normal. Maybe soon. Maybe in a matter
of two weeks, even.
"Good," he said. "Very good. I'm glad
we are of the same mind."
She nodded again, and bent down to
give him a small peck on the cheek before
turning to leave.
It took more than two weeks for her to
return. Close to a month. By then, he
was sad to report that his mother had
passed. Alare's husband, on the other
hand, she said, was making tiny bits of
progress, one day at a time.
"Very good," Benji said, and he as-
sured her that he would continue to send
Godwin over. Would it work to send a
few thousand nairas every two weeks?
Would that be enough?
"Beggars can't be choosers," she said.
She added that it was very kind of him
to do that. And, as a matter of fact, it
was good that he sent Godwin along
with the money. She would feel rather
strange if he were handing the money
directly to her.
"Strange?" he asked.
"You know," she said. "You know . . .
Like those sorts of women."
"Ahh," he said. He shook his head.
"Don't think of it that way."
"No, I suppose I won't," she said.
"Anyway, my point is that it's a good
thing that we have the op-
tion of Godwin."
After his mother died,
and while Alare was
gone, Benji had taken on the
project of opening a small
convenience store in an
abandoned shack nearby.
The shack was an eyesore;
all the houses around it were
mansions. How could the owners of the
mansions allow such a thing to exist in
the same neighborhood as their designer
homes?
Well, he paid a decent sum to its
owner and bought the shack. He hired a
small construction crew, which reno-
vated the shack in a matter of days---
knocked down its walls, put up new ones.
A shiny new roof, tiled floors, custom
shelves. He then stocked the shelves with
a good variety of items: Coca-Cola,
chewing gum, Nabisco wafers, Ribena
juice, bread.
The store was now open. Benji him-
self was in charge of everything, from
stocking the shelves to accounts manage-
ment. Finally, he said, he could put his
business education to use.
Managing the store filled his days,
especially as there were periods of
time, which usually lasted about two
weeks, when Alare could not keep him
company, because she was once again at-
tending to her husband and to his medi-
cal appointments.
Of course, there were also periods of
time when she visited him. Now that
Benji's mother was dead, they decided to
tell Alare's husband that she had found
work as a cashier at a convenience store.
That this was how she was getting the
money to help with his hospital bills.
It was true, in a sense. More and more
she was with Benji at the convenience
store, rather than at his family home.
They stood behind the counter together,
taking turns ringing up customers.
But it was not all work. He had made
sure to build a small addition to the
shack, a secluded space at the back,
which he furnished with a nice sofa
bed, a coffee table, a small refrigerator
stocked with soft drinks and mineral
water and wine, and a dining table and
chairs. During their afternoon breaks,
he locked up the store and they headed
to this small living space. Sometimes
they reopened the store. Other times,
they called it a day.
It was early in the harmattan season
that she made the announcement to
Benji: her husband's illness had taken a
turn for the worse, and his doctors were
telling him to go abroad for treatment.
England was a good place to go, one
doctor had said, or anywhere in Eu-
rope. But they should at least try South
Africa. There was definitely access to
better medical technology there than in
Nigeria.
She and Benji were standing behind
the counter in the shop. She had just
arrived, and had immediately broken
the news.
Was she actually considering it? Benji
asked.
She remained silent at first, but even-